


MORAL EMBLEMS 







AND OTHER POEMS 

By 
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 




Class ._IEJi^ii^ 
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COPyRIGHTT DEPOSIT. 



MORAL EMBLEMS AND 
OTHER POEMS 



MORAL EMBLEMS 

& OTHER POEMS WRITTEN AND 

ILLUSTRATED WITH WOODCUTS 

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

FIRST PRINTED AT THE DAVOS 

PRESS BY LLOYD OSBOURNE 

AND WITH A PREFACE 

BY THE SAME 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1921 



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Copyright, 1921, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



DEC -8 '21 



PRINTED AT 

THE SCRIBNER PRES 

NEW YORK, U. S. A. 



g)C!,A630695 



PREFACE 

It is with some diffidence that I sit down 
at an age so mature that I cannot bring 
myself to name it, to write a preface to 
works I printed and published at twelve. 

I would have the reader see a little boy 
living in a chalet on a Swiss mountain-side, 
overlooking a straggling village named 
Davos-Platz, where consumptives coming 
to get well more often died. It was winter ; 
the sky-line was broken by frosty peaks; 
the hamlet — it was scarcely more then — 
lay huddled in the universal snow. Morn- 
ing came late, and the sun set early. A 
still, silent, and icy night had an undue 
share of the round of hours, which at least 
it had the grace to mitigate by a myriad 
of shining stars. 

The little boy thought it was a very jolly 
place. He loved the tobogganing, the 
skating, the snow-balling; loved the crisp. 



tingling air, and the woods full of Christmas 
trees, glittering with icicles. Nor with his 
toy theatre and printing-press was the in- 
door confinement ever irksome. He but 
dimly appreciated that his stepfather and 
mother were less happy in so favoured a 
spot. His mother's face was often anxious ; 
sometimes he would find her crying. His 
stepfather, whom he idolised, was terribly 
thin, and even to childish eyes looked frail 
and spectral. The stepfather was an un- 
successful author named Robert Louis 
Stevenson, who would never have got along 
at all had it not been for his rich parents in 
Edinburgh. The little boy at his lessons 
in the room which they all shared grew 
used to hearing a sentence that struck at 
his heart. Perhaps it was the tone it was 
uttered in ; perhaps the looks of discourage- 
ment and depression that went with it. 

' Fanny, I shall have to write to my 
father.' 

It served to make the little boy very 
vi 



precocious about money. In a family 
perennially short of it he learned its 
essentialness early. He knew too, that he 
was a dreadfully expensive child. His 
stepfather paid forty pounds for his winter's 
tutoring, not to speak of an additional out- 
lay on a dying Prussian officer who taught 
him German with the aid of a pocket-knife 
stuck down his throat to give him the right 
accent. It was with consternation that he 
once heard his stepfather say in a voice of 
tragedy : ^ Good Heavens, Fanny, we are 
spending ten pounds a week on food alone ! ' 
The little boy, under the stress of this 
financial urgency, decided to go into busi- 
ness, finding a capital opening in the Hotel 
Belvidere where a hundred programmes 
were required weekly for the Saturday 
night concerts. A gentleman with a black 
beard, who was in charge of these arrange- 
ments, willingly offered to pay two francs 
fifty centimes for each set of programmes. 
The little boy was afraid of the gentleman 

vii 



with the black beard; he was a formidable 
gentleman, with a formidable manner, and 
he was very exacting about spelling. The 
gentleman with the black beard attached 
an inordinate importance to spelling. The 
gentleman with the black beard was wholly 
unable to make allowances for the trifling 
mistakes that will occur in even the best- 
managed of printing-offices. If the little 
boy printed : ' 'Twas in Trofolgar's Bay 
. . . sung by Mr. Edwin Smith,' the black- 
bearded gentleman had no mercy in send- 
ing that poor little boy back to do it all 
over again. But he paid promptly — a 
severe man, but extremely honourable. 
There were charity-bazaars too, public 
invitations, announcements, letter-heads, 
all bringing grist to the mill. The ' Elegy 
for Some Lead Soldiers' was brought out, 
and sold for a penny. Once there was a 
colossal order for a thousand lottery tickets. 
The little boy's ambitions soared. He 
wrote and printed a tiny book of eight 

viii 



pages, entitled Black Canyon, or Life in 
the Far West, in which he used all the 
* cuts ' he had somehow accumulated with 
his type — the story conforming to the 
illustrations instead of the more common- 
place way of the illustrations conforming 
to the text. This work can occasionally be 
picked up at one of Sotheby's auctions, and 
if you can get it for less than twenty-five 
pounds you are lucky — that is if you are a 
collector and prize such things. It has 
risen to the dignity of ' Davos booklets ; 
Stevensoniana ; Excessively rare.' 
But its original price was sixpence, and its 
sale was immediate and gratifying. The 
little boy discovered that there was much 
more money to be made from one book 
than a dozen sets of programmes, and 
that without any black-bearded gentle- 
man either to tweak his nose when errors 
crept in. 

Louis, as the little boy always called his 
stepfather, with a familiarity that was 

ix 



much criticised by strangers, followed this 
publishing venture with absorbing interest. 
Then his own ambitions awakened, and one 
day, with an affected humility that was 
most embarrassing, he called at the office, 
and submitted a manuscript called, ' Not 
I, and Other Poems,' which the firm of 
Osbourne and Co. gladly accepted on the 
spot. It was an instantaneous hit, selling 
out an entire edition of fifty copies. 

The publisher was thrilled, and the 
author was equally jubilant, saying it was 
the only successful book he had ever 
written, and jingling his three francs of 
royalties with an air that made the little 
boy burst out laughing with delighted pride. 
In the ensuing enthusiasm another book 
was planned, and the first poem for it 
written. 

' If only we could have illustrations,' said 
the publisher longingly. But his ' cuts ' 
had all been used in Black Canyon^ or Life 
in the Far West Illustrations had to be 



put by as a dream impossible of fulfilment. 
No, not impossible ! Louis, who was a man 
of infinite resourcefulness (he could paint 
better theatre-scenes than any one could 
buy), said that he would try to carve some 
pictures on squares of fretwood. The word 
fretwood seems as unknown nowadays as 
the thing itself; it was an extremely thin 
piece of board with which one was supposed 
to make works of art with the help of 
pasted-on patterns, an aggravating little 
saw, and the patience of Job. . . . Well, 
Louis cut out a small square of fretwood, 
and in a deeply-thoughtful manner applied 
himself to the task. He had only a pocket- 
knife; real tools came later; but he was 
impelled by a will to win that carried all 
before it. After an afternoon of almost 
suffocating excitement — for the publisher — 
he completed the engraving that accom- 
panies the poem : * Reader, your soul 
upraise to see.' But it had yet to be 
mounted on a wooden block in order to 



XI 



raise it to the exact level of the type. At 
last this was done. A proof was run off. 
But the impression was unequal. Oh the 
disappointment ! Author and publisher 
gazed at each other in misery. But 
woman's wit came to the rescue. Why 
not build it up with cigarette-papers? 
' Bravo, Fanny ! ' The author set to 
work, deftly and skilfully. Then more 
proofs, more cigarette-papers, more running 
up and down stairs to the little boy's room, 
which in temperature hovered about zero. 
But what was temperature.'^ The thing 
was a success. The little boy, entranced 
beyond measure, printed copy after copy 
from the sheer pleasure of seeing the wet 
ink magically reproducing the block. 

The next day the little boy was sent to a 
dying Swiss — half the population of Davos 
were coughing away the remnants of life — 
who lived with his poverty-stricken family 
in one room, earning their bread by carving 
bears. A model block was shown him. 



Xll 



Could he reproduce a dozen exactly like it, 
but in a wood without any grain? The 
dying Swiss said he could, leaving his bear 
forthwith, and applying himself to the task. 
The pinched-face children looked on 
amazed ; the little print of * Reader, your 
soul upraise to see ' was passed from hand 
to hand with exclamations of astonishment. 
The dying Swiss gave the little boy the 
blocks, beautifully and faultlessly finished. 
Would the little boy care to buy a bear.^^ 
No, the little boy didn't. He scurried home 
through the snow with the precious blocks. 
Thus Moral Emblems came out ; ninety 
copies, price sixpence. Its reception might 
almost be called sensational. Wealthy 
people in the Hotel Belvidere bought as 
many as three copies apiece. Friends in 
England wrote back for more. Meanwhile 
the splendid artist was assiduously busy. 
He worked like a beaver, saying that it was 
the best relaxation he had ever found. 
The little boy once overheard him confiding 



Xlll 



to a visitor : ' I cannot tell you what a 
Godsend these silly blocks have been to 
me. When I can write no more, and read 
no more, and think no more I can pass 
whole hours engraving these blocks in 
blissful contentment.' These may not 
have been the actual words, but such at 
least was their sense. 

Thus the second Moral Emblems came 
out ; ninety copies, price ninepence. The 
public welcomed it as heartily as the first, 
the little boy becoming so prosperous that 
he accumulated upwards of five pounds. 
But let it never be said that he spurned the 
humble mainstay of his beginnings. He 
printed the weekly programmes as usual, 
and bore the exactions of the black-bearded 
gentleman with fortitude. When he made 
such a trifling mistake, for instance, as 
' The Harp that Once Through Tara's 
Hells,' he dutifully climbed the hill to his 
freezing room, and ran off a whole fresh set. 
Two francs fifty was two francs fifty. 

xiv 



Every business man appreciates the com- 
fort of a small regular order which can be 
counted on like the clock. 

But one day there was no black-bearded 
gentleman. 'Oh, he was dead. Had had 
a hemorrhage three days before and had 
died.' I don't know whether the little boy 
mourned for him particularly, but it was a 
shock to lose that two francs fifty centimes. 
The little boy was worried until he found a 
lady who had substituted herself for the 
gentleman with the black beard. She was 
a very kind lady ; you could print any- 
thing for that lady, and 'get away with it ' 
as Americans say. But she was frolicsome 
and lacked poise ; she was vague about 
appointments, and had a disheartening way 
of saying : ' Oh, bother,' when the little 
boy appeared ; she would insist on kissing 
him amid circumstances of the most odious 
publicity ; was so abased a creature be- 
sides, that she often marred the programmes 
by making pen-and-ink corrections. In 

XV 



contrast, the little boy looked back on the 
black-bearded gentleman almost with regret. 

Two winters were thus occupied, with 
incidental education that seemed far less 
important. The Prussian officer had for- 
tunately died, releasing the little boy from 
any further study of German. All that he 
retains of it to-day is the taste of that 
pocket-knife, and of the Prussian officer's 
thumb. Then he was sent to boarding- 
school in England, or to be precise to a 
tutor who had half a dozen resident pupils. 
Time passed ; publishing became a memory. 
Then a long summer holiday found the 
little boy, now much grown and matured, 
reunited with his family in Kingussie. The 
printing-press was there, and business was 
resumed with enthusiasm. The stepfather, 
who had made much more progress with 
engraving than the boy had with Latin, 
had the blocks and poems all ready for 
The Graver and the Pen. 

But the printing-press broke down ; and 
xvi 



after an interval of despair and unavailing 
attempts to repair it, an amiable old man 
was found who had a press of his own 
behind a microscopic general shop. Here 
The Graver and the Pen was printed with 
what now seems an almost regrettable 
perfection. The amiable old man was 
altogether too amiable. He would insist 
on doing far too much himself, though he 
had been merely paid a trifling rent for the 
use of the press. An edition of a hundred 
copies was printed, of which almost none 
were sold. The little boy had grown such 
a big boy that he was ashamed of trades- 
manship. He had passed the age when he 
could take sixpences and ninepences with 
ease from strangers. New standards were 
imperceptibly forming, and it pleased him 
better to see his stepfather give away The 
Graver and the Pen to those worthy of so 
signal an honour. 

In fact The Graver and the Pen was the 
last enterprise of Osbourne and Co. The 
xvii 



Pirate and the Apothecary was projected ; 
three superb illustrations were engraved 
for it ; yet it never saw more light than 
the typewriter afforded. The Builder's 
Doom has remained in manuscript until 
the present time. No illustrations were 
either drawn nor engraved for it. It 
marked the final decline of a once flourish- 
ing business, which in its day had given so 
much laughter to many people sadly in 
need of it. 

LLOYD OSBOURNE. 



xvni 



CONTENTS 



PAGK 

PREFACE V 



NOT I, AND OTHER POEMS— 

I. Some like drink ..*... 3 

II. Here, perfect to a wish 4 

III. As seamen on the seas ..... 6 

IV. The pamphlet here presented .... 6 

MORAL EMBLEMS : A COLLECTION OF CUTS 
AND VERSES— 



I. See how the children in the print 

II. Reader, your soul upraise to see 

III. A PEAK IN DARIEN— Broad-gazing on un 
trodden lands ..... 



IV. See in the print how, moved hy whim 
V. Mark, printed on the opposing page . 



9 
11 

13 
15 
17 



XIX 



MORAL EMBLEMS : A SECOND COLLECTION 
OF CUTS AND VERSES— 

I. "With storms a-weather, rocks a-lee 
II. The careful angler chose his nook 

III. The Abbot for a walk went out 

IV. The frozen peaks he once explored 
V. Industrious pirate ! see him sweep 



PAGE 

21 
23 
25 

27 
29 



A MARTIAL ELEGY FOR SOME LEAD 
SOLDIERS— 

For certain soldiers lately dead 



S3 



THE GRAVER AND THE PEN : OR, SCENES 
FROM NATURE, WITH APPROPRIATE 
VERSES— 

I. PROEM — Unlike the common run of men . 37 

II. THE PRECARIOUS MILL— Alone above the 

stream it stands ...... 41 

III. THE DISPUTATIOUS PINES— The first pine 

to the second said 45 



XX 



PAGE 



IV. THE TRAMPS— Now long enough had day 

endured ....... 49 

V. THE FOOLHARDY GEOGRAPHER-The 

howling desert miles around ... 51 

VI. THE ANGLER AND THE CLOWN— The 

echoing bridge you here may see . . 55 



MORAL TALES— 

L ROBIN AND BEN : OR, THE PIRATE AND 
THE APOTHECARY-Come, lend me an 
attentive ear 59 

IL THE BUILDER'S DOOM— In eighteen-twenty 

Deacon Thin 73 



XXI 



NOT I 
AND OTHER POEMS 



J 

NOT I 

Some like drink 
In a pint pot, 
Some like to think ; 
Some not. 

Strong Dutch cheese, 
Old Kentucky rye. 
Some like these ; 
Not I. 

Some like Poe, 
And others like Scott, 
Some hke Mrs. Stowe ; 
Some not. 

Some like to laugh, 
Some like to cry. 
Some like chaff ; 
Not I. 
3 



II 

Here, perfect to a wish. 
We offer, not a dish. 

But just the platter : 
A book that 's not a book, 
A pamphlet in the look 

But not the matter. 

I own in disarray : 

As to the flowers of May 

The frosts of Winter ; 
To my poetic rage. 
The smallness of the page 

And of the printer. 



Ill 

As seamen on the seas 
With song and dance descry 
Adown the morning breeze 
An islet in the sky : 
In Araby the dry. 
As o'er the sandy plain 
The panting camels cry 
To smell the coming rain : 

So all things over earth 
A common law obey, 
And rarity and worth 
Pass, arm in arm, away ; 
And even so, to-day. 
The printer and the bard, 
In pressless Davos, pray 
Their sixpenny reward. 



IV 

The pamphlet here presented 
Was planned and printed by 
A printer unindented, 
A bard whom all decry. 

The author and the printer, 
With various kinds of skill. 
Concocted it in Winter 
At Davos on the Hill. 

They burned the nightly taper ; 
But now the work is ripe — 
Observe the costly paper. 
Remark the perfect type ! 



MORAL EMBLEMS 
I 



See how the children in the print 
Bound on the book to see what 's in 't ! 
O, hke these pretty babes, may you 
Seize and apply this volume too ! 
And while your eye upon the cuts 
With harmless ardour opes and shuts. 
Reader, may your immortal mind 
To their sage lessons not be blind. 



II 

Reader, your soul upraise to see, 
In yon fair cut designed by me. 
The pauper by the highwayside 
Vainly soliciting from pride. 
Mark how the Beau with easy air 
Contemns the anxious rustic's prayer, 
And, casting a disdainful eye. 
Goes gaily gallivanting by. 
He from the poor averts his head . . 
He will regret it when he 's dead. 



11 



Ill 

A PEAK IN DARIEN 

Broad-gazing on untrodden lands, 
See where adventurous Cortez stands ; 
While in the heavens above his head 
The Eagle seeks its daily bread. 
How aptly fact to fact replies : 
Heroes and eagles, hills and skies. 
Ye who contemn the fatted slave 
Look on this emblem, and be brave. 



13 



rv 

See in the print how, moved by whim, 
Trumpeting Jumbo, great and grim. 
Adjusts his trunk, hke a cravat, 
To noose that individual's hat. 
The sacred Ibis in the distance 
Joys to observe his bold resistance. 



15 



ff 







Mark, printed on the opposing page. 
The unfortunate effects of rage. 
A man (who might be you or me) 
Hurls another into the sea. 
Poor soul, his unreflecting act 
His future joys will much contract, 
And he will spoil his evening toddy 
By dwelling on that mangled body. 



17 



MORAL EMBLEMS 
II 



With storms a-weather, rocks a-lee. 
The dancing skiff puts forth to sea. 
The lone dissenter in the blast 
Recoils before the sight aghast. 
But she, although the heavens be black, 
Holds on upon the starboard tack. 
For why ? although to-day she sink. 
Still safe she sails in printer's ink. 
And though to-day the seamen drown. 
My cut shall hand their memory down. 



21 



II 

The careful angler chose his nook 
At morning by the lilied brook, 
And all the noon his rod he plied 
By that romantic riverside. 
Soon as the evening hours decline 
Tranquilly he '11 return to dine, 
And, breathing forth a pious wish, 
Will cram his belly full of fish. 



23 



Ill 

The Abbot for a walk went out, 
A wealthy cleric, very stout, 
And Robin has that Abbot stuck 
As the red hunter spears the buck. 
The djavel or the javelin 
Has, you observe, gone bravely in. 
And you may hear that weapon whack 
Bang through the middle of his back. 
Hence we may learn that Abbots should 
Never go walking in a wood. 



25 



IV 

The frozen peaks he once explored. 
But now he 's dead and by the board. 
How better far at home to have stayed 
Attended by the parlour maid, 
And warmed his knees before the fire 
Until the hour when folks retire ! 
So, if you would be spared to friends, 
Do nothing but for business ends. 



27 



Industrious pirate ! see him sweep 

The lonely bosom of the deep. 

And daily the horizon scan 

From Hatteras or Matapan. 

Be sure, before that pirate 's old, 

He will have made a pot of gold. 

And will retire from all his labours 

And be respected by his neighbours. 

You also scan your lifers horizon 

For all that you can clap your eyes on. 



29 



A MARTIAL ELEGY FOR SOME 
LEAD SOLDIERS 



A MARTIAL ELEGY FOR SOME 
LEAD SOLDIERS 

For certain soldiers lately dead 
Our reverent dirge shall here be said. 
Them, when their martial leader called. 
No dread preparative appalled ; 
But leaden-hearted, leaden-heeled, 
I marked them steadfast in the field. 
Death grimly sided with the foe. 
And smote each leaden hero low. 
Proudly they perished one by one : 
The dread Pea-cannon's work was done ! 
O not for them the tears we shed. 
Consigned to their congenial lead ; 
But while unmoved their sleep they take. 
We mourn for their dear Captain's sake. 
For their dear Captain, who shall smart 
Both in his pocket and his heart, 
Who saw his heroes shed their gore. 
And lacked a shilling to buy more I 

83 



THE GRAVER AND THE PEN : 

OR, SCENES FROM NATURE, WITH 

APPROPRIATE VERSES 



I 

PROEM 

Unlike the common run of men, 
I wield a double power to please. 

And use the graver and the pen 
With equal aptitude and ease. 

I move with that illustrious crew. 
The ambidextrous Kings of Art ; 

And every mortal thing I do 

Brings ringing money in the mart. 

Hence, in the morning hour, the mead. 
The forest and the stream perceive 

Me wandering as the muses lead — 
Or back returning in the eve. 

Two muses like two maiden aunts. 
The engraving and the singing muse. 

Follow, through all my favourite haunts. 
My devious traces in the dews. 
37 



To guide and cheer me, each attends ; 

Each speeds my rapid task along ; 
One to my cuts her ardour lends, 

One breathes her magic in my song. 



sa 



II 

THE PRECARIOUS MILL 

Alone above the stream it stands. 

Above the iron hill, 
The topsy-turvy, tumble-down. 

Yet habitable mill. 

Still as the ringing saws advance 
To slice the humming deal, 

All day the pallid miller hears 
The thunder of the wheel. 

He hears the river plunge and roar 
As roars the angry mob ; 

He feels the solid building quake. 
The trusty timbers throb. 

All night beside the fire he cowers : 
He hears the rafters jar : 

O why is he not in a proper house 
As decent people are ! 
41 



The floors are all aslant, he sees, 

The doors are all a- jam ; 
And from the hook above his head 

All crooked swings the ham. 

' Alas,' he cries and shakes his head, 

' I see by every sign, 
There soon will be the deuce to pay, 

With this estate of mine.' 



42 



Ill 

THE DISPUTATIOUS PINES 

The first pine to the second said : 

' My leaves are black, my branches red ; 

I stand upon this moor of mine, 

A hoar, unconquerable pine.' 

The second sniffed and answered : ' Pooh ! 
I am as good a pine as you.' 

' Discourteous tree,' the first replied, 
' The tempest in my boughs had cried, 
The hunter slumbered in my shade, 
A hundred years ere you were made.' 

The second smiled as he returned : 

' I shall be here when you are burned.' 

So far dissension ruled the pair. 
Each turned on each a frowning air, 

45 



When flickering from the bank anigh, 
A flight of martens met their eye. 
Sometime their course they watched ; and 

then 
They nodded off to sleep again. 



46 



IV 

THE TRAMPS 

Now long enough had day endured. 
Or King Apollo Palinured, 
Seaward he steers his panting team, 
And casts on earth his latest gleam. 

But see ! the Tramps with jaded eye 
Their destined provinces espy. 
Long through the hills their way they took, 
Long camped beside the mountain brook ; 
'Tis over ; now with rising hope 
They pause upon the downward slope, 
And as their aching bones they rest. 
Their anxious captain scans the west. 

So paused Alaric on the Alps 

And ciphered up the Roman scalps. 



49 



V 

THE FOOLHARDY GEOGRAPHER 

The howling desert miles around. 
The tinkling brook the only sound — 
Wearied with all his toils and feats, 
The traveller dines on potted meats ; 
On potted meats and princely wines. 
Not wisely but too well he dines. 



The brindled Tiger loud may roar, 
High may the hovering Vulture soar ; 
Alas ! regardless of them all, 
Soon shall the empurpled glutton sprawl- 
Soon, in the desert's hushed repose. 
Shall trumpet tidings through his nose ! 
Alack, unwise ! that nasal song 
Shall be the Ounce's dinner-gong ! 



51 



A blemish in the cut appears ; 
Alas ! it cost both blood and tears. 
The glancing graver swerved aside, 
Fast flowed the artist's vital tide ! 
And now the apologetic bard 
Demands indulgence for his pard ! 



52 



VI 
THE ANGLER AND THE CLOWN 

The echoing bridge you here may see, 
The pouring lynn, the waving tree. 
The eager angler fresh from town- 
Above, the contumeUous clown. 
The angler plies his line and rod, 
The clodpole stands with many a nod,— 
With many a nod and many a grin, 
He sees him cast his engine in. 

' What have you caught ? ' the peasant cries. 

' Nothing as yet,' the Fool replies. 



55 



MORAL TALES 



I 

ROBIN AND BEN : OR, THE PIRATE 
AND THE APOTHECARY 

Come, lend me an attentive ear 
A startling moral tale to hear, 
Of Pirate Rob and Chemist Ben, 
And different destinies of men. 

Deep in the greenest of the vales 
That nestle near the coast of Wales, 
The heaving main but just in view, 
Robin and Ben together grew, 
Together worked and played the fool. 
Together shunned the Sunday school, 
And pulled each other's youthful noses 
Around the cots, among the roses. 

Together but unlike they grew ; 
Robin was rough, and through and through 
Bold, inconsiderate, and manly. 
Like some historic Bruce or Stanley. 

59 



Ben had a mean and servile soul. 
He robbed not, though he often stole. 
He sang on Sunday in the choir, 
And tamely capped the passing Squire. 

At length, intolerant of trammels — 
Wild as the wild Bithynian camels. 
Wild as the wild sea-eagles — Bob 
His widowed dam contrives to rob. 
And thus with great originality 
Effectuates his personality. 
Thenceforth his terror-haunted flight 
He follows through the starry night ; 
And with the early morning breeze, 
Behold him on the azure seas. 
The master of a trading dandy 
Hires Robin for a go of brandy ; 
And all the happy hills of home 
Vanish beyond the fields of foam. 

Ben, meanwhile, like a tin reflector, 
Attended on the v/orthy rector ; 

60 



Opened his eyes and held his breath, 
And flattered to the point of death ; 
And was at last, by that good fairy, 
Apprenticed to the Apothecary. 

So Ben, while Robin chose to roam, 
A rising chemist was at home, 
Tended his shop with learned air. 
Watered his drugs and oiled his hair. 
And gave advice to the unwary. 
Like any sleek apothecary. 

Meanwhile upon the deep afar 
Robin the brave was waging war, 
With other tarry desperadoes 
About the latitude of Barbadoes. 
He knew no touch of craven fear ; 
His voice was thunder in the cheer ; 
First, from the main-to'-gallan' high, 
The skulking merchantmen to spy — 

61 



The first to bound upon the deck. 
The last to leave the sinking wreck. 
His hand was steel, his word was law. 
His mates regarded him with awe. 
No pirate in the whole profession 
Held a more honourable position. 

At length, from years of anxious toil, 
Bold Robin seeks his native soil ; 
Wisely arranges his affairs, 
And to his native dale repairs. 
The Bristol Swallow sets him down 
Beside the well-remembered town. 
He sighs, he spits, he marks the scene. 
Proudly he treads the village green ; 
And, free from pettiness and rancour. 
Takes lodgings at the ' Crown and Anchor.' 

Strange, when a man so great and good 
Once more in his home-country stood. 
Strange that the sordid clowns should show 
A dull desire to have him go. 

62 



His clinging breeks, his tarry hat, 
The way he swore, the way he spat, 
A certain quality of manner. 
Alarming like the pirate's banner — 
Something that did not seem to suit all — 
Something, O call it bluff, not brutal — 
Something at least, howe'er it 's called. 
Made Robin generally black-balled. 

His soul was wounded ; proud and glum, 
Alone he sat and swigged his rum. 
And took a great distaste to men 
Till he encountered Chemist Ben. 
Bright was the hour and bright the day 
That threw them in each other's way ; 
Glad were their mutual salutations, 
Long their respective revelations. 
Before the inn in sultry weather 
They talked of this and that together ; 
Ben told the tale of his indentures. 
And Rob narrated his adventures. 

65 



Last, as the point of greatest weight, 
The pair contrasted their estate. 
And Robin, Hke a boastful sailor. 
Despised the other for a tailor. 

' See,' he remarked, ' with envy, see 

A man with such a fist as me ! 

Bearded and ringed, and big, and brown, 

I sit and toss the stingo down. 

Hear the gold jingle in my bag — 

All won beneath the Jolly Flag ! ' 

Ben moralised and shook his head ; 

' You wanderers earn and eat your bread. 

The foe is found, beats or is beaten, 

And, either how, the wage is eaten. 

And after all your puUy-hauly 

Your proceeds look uncommon small-ly. 

You had done better here to tarry 

Apprentice to the Apothecary. 

The silent pirates of the shore 

Eat and sleep soft, and pocket more 



Than any red, robustious ranger 
Who picks his farthings hot from danger. 
You clank your guineas on the board ; 
Mine are with several bankers stored. 
You reckon riches on your digits, 
You dash in chase of Sals and Bridgets, 
You drink and risk delirium tremens. 
Your whole estate a common seaman's ! 
Regard your friend and school companion. 
Soon to be wed to Miss Trevanion 
(Smooth, honourable, fat and flowery. 
With Heaven knows how much land in 

dowry), 
Look at me— Am I in good case ? 
Look at my hands, look at my face ; 
Look at the cloth of my apparel ; 
Try me and test me, lock and barrel ; 
And own, to give the devil his due, 
I have made more of life than you. 
Yet I nor sought nor risked a life ; 
I shudder at an open knife ; 

67 



The perilous seas I still avoided 
And stuck to land whate'er betided. 
I had no gold, no marble quarry, 
I was a poor apothecary, 
Yet here I stand, at thirty-eight, 
A man of an assured estate.' 

* Well,' answered Robin—-' well, and how ? 

The smiling chemist tapped his brow. 
' Rob,' he replied, ' this throbbing brain 
Still worked and hankered after gain. 
By day and night, to work my will. 
It pounded like a powder mill ; 
And marking how the world went round 
A theory of theft it found. 
Here is the key to right and wrong : 
Steal little, but steal all day long ; 
And this invaluable plan 
Marks what is called the Honest Man. 
When first I served with Doctor Pill, 
My hand was ever in the till. 

68 



Now that I am myself a master. 
My gains come softer still and faster* 
As thus : on Wednesday, a maid 
Came to me in the way of trade. 
Her mother, an old farmer's wife, 
Required a drug to save her life. 
' At once, my dear, at once,' I said, 
Patted the child upon the head, 
Bade her be still a loving daughter. 
And filled the bottle up with water.' 

' Well, and the mother ? ' Robin cried. 

' O she ! ' said Ben—' I think she died,' 

' Battle and blood, death and disease, 
Upon the tainted Tropic seas— 
The attendant sharks that chew the cud- 
The abhorred scuppers spouting blood— 
The untended dead, the Tropic sun— 
The thunder of the murderous gun— 

71 



The cut-throat crew — the Captain's curse — 
The tempest blustering worse and worse — 
These have I known and these can stand. 
But you — I settle out of hand ! ' 

Out flashed the cutlass, down went Ben 
Dead and rotten, there and then. 



72 



II 

THE BUILDER'S DOOM 

In eighteen-twenty Deacon Thin 
Feu'd the land and fenced it in, 
And laid his broad foundations down 
About a furlong out of town. 

Early and late the work went on. 
The carts were toiling ere the dawn ; 
The mason whistled, the hodman sang ; 
Early and late the trowels rang ; 
And Thin himself came day by day 
To push the work in every way. 
An artful builder, patent king 
Of all the local building ring, 
Who was there like him in the quarter 
For mortifying brick and mortar, 
Or pocketing the odd piastre 
By substituting lath and plaster ? 
With plan and two-foot rule in hand, 
He by the foreman took his stand, 
73 



With boisterous voice, with eagle glance 
To stamp upon extravagance. 
For thrift of bricks and greed of guilders, 
He was the Buonaparte of Builders. 

The foreman, a desponding creature, 
Demurred to here and there a feature : 
' For surely, sir — with your permeession — 
Bricks here, sir, in the main parteetion. . • .' 
The builder goggled, gulped, and stared, 
The foreman's services were spared. 
Thin would not count among his minions 
A man of Wesleyan opinions. 

' Money is money,' so he said. 
' Crescents are crescents, trade is trade. 
Pharaohs and emperors in their seasons 
Built, I believe, for different reasons — 
Charity, glory, piety, pride — 
To pay the men, to please a bride. 
To use their stone, to spite their neighbours. 
Not for a profit on their labours. 

74 



They built to edify or bewilder ; 
I build because I am a builder. 
Crescent and street and square I build, 
Plaster and paint and carve and gild. 
Around the city see them stand, 
These triumphs of my shaping hand, 
With bulging walls, with sinking floors. 
With shut, impracticable doors. 
Fickle and frail in every part. 
And rotten to their inmost heart. 
There shall the simple tenant find 
Death in the falling window-blind, 
Death in the pipe, death in the faucet, 
Death in the deadly water-closet ! 
A day is set for all to die : 
Caveat emptor ! what care I ? ''' 

As to Amphion's tuneful kit 
Thebes rose, with towers encircling it ; 
As to the Mage's brandished wana 
A spiry palace clove the sand ; 

75 



To Thin's indomitable financing. 

That phantom crescent kept advancing. 

When first the brazen bells of churches 

Called clerk and parson to their perches, 

The worshippers of every sect 

Already viewed it with respect ; 

A second Sunday had not gone 

Before the roof was rattled on : 

And when the fourth was there, behold 

The crescent finished, painted, sold ! 

The stars proceeded in their courses, 
Nature with her subversive forces. 
Time, too, the iron-toothed and sinewed. 
And the edacious years continued. 
Thrones rose and fell ; and still the crescent, 
Unsanative and now senescent, 
A plastered skeleton of lath, 
Looked forward to a day of wrath. 
In the dead night, the groaning timber 
Would jar upon the ear of slumber, 

76 



And, like Dodona's talking oak, 
Of oracles and judgments spoke. 
When to the music fingered well 
The feet of children lightly fell, 
The sire, who dozed by the decanters. 
Started, and dreamed of misadventures. 
The rotten brick decayed to dust ; 
The iron was consumed by rust ; 
Each tabid and perverted mansion 
Hung in the article of declension. 

So forty, fifty, sixty passed ; 
Until, when seventy came at last, 
The occupant of number three 
Called friends to hold a jubilee. 
Wild was the night ; the charging rack 
Had forced the moon upon her back ; 
The wind piped up a naval ditty ; 
And the lamps winked through all the city. 
Before that house, where lights were shining. 
Corpulent feeders, grossly dining, 

77 



And jolly clamour, hum and rattle, 
Fairly outvoiced the tempest's battle. 
As still his moistened lip he fingered. 
The envious policeman lingered ; 
While far the infernal tempest sped, 
And shook the country folks in bed, 
And tore the trees and tossed the ships. 
He lingered and he licked his lips. 
Lo, from within, a hush ! the host 
Briefly expressed the evening's toast ; 
And lo, before the lips were dry, 
The Deacon rising to reply ! 
' Here in this house which once I built. 
Papered and painted, carved and gilt. 
And out of which, to my content, 
I netted seventy-five per cent. ; 
Here at this board of jolly neighbours, 
I reap the credit of my labours. 
These were the days — I will say more— 
These were the grand old days of yore ! 
The builder laboured day and night ; 
He watched that every brick was right : 

78 



The decent men their utmost did ; 

And the house rose — a pyramid ! 

These were the days, our provost 

knows, 
When forty streets and crescents rose, 
The fruits of my creative noddle, 
All more or less upon a model. 
Neat and commodious, cheap and dry, 
A perfect pleasure to the eye ! 
I found this quite a country quarter ; 
I leave it solid lath and mortar. 
In all, I was the single actor — 
And am this city's benefactor ! 
Since then, alas ! both thing and name, 
Shoddy across the ocean came — 
Shoddy that can the eye bewilder 
And makes me blush to meet a builder ! 
Had this good house, in frame or 

fixture, 
Been tempered by the least admixture 
Of that discreditable shoddy. 
Should we to-day compound our toddy, 

79 



Or gaily marry song and laughter 
Below its sempiternal rafter ? 
Not so ! ' the Deacon cried. 

The mansion 
Had marked his fatuous expansion. 
The years were full, the house was fated, 
The rotten structure crepitated ! 

A moment, and the silent guests 

Sat pallid as their dinner vests. 

A moment more and, root and branch. 

That mansion fell in avalanche. 

Story on story, floor on floor. 

Roof, wall and window, joist and door. 

Dead weight of damnable disaster, 

A cataclysm of lath and plaster. 

Siloam did not choose a sinner — 
All were not builders at the dinner. 



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